


huddle

by lovages



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Love, First Time, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, M/M, No Homophobia, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovages/pseuds/lovages
Summary: It’s April. Dean always liked April. It feels like a time of change. He could go for a change right about now. He stares out the window of the passenger seat as they cross the state line to Idaho.Or, the one where Dean meets a very cute boy during the last months he ever spends in school.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	huddle

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, please. The name of the fic comes from a song by the band Kisses. Issa mood, trust me. Also lol idk anything about football or how and when the games happen so y’know *handwaves*

It’s April. Dean always liked April. It feels like a time of change. He could go for a change right about now. 

He stares out the window of the passenger seat as they cross the state line to Idaho. Dad’s talking about the job. His job. Keep an eye on Sammy. Watch out for Sammy. His little brother’s asleep in the backseat, stretched out and drooling. Sam’s gonna be okay.

It’s near the end of the school year, but Dean keeps this stuff straight for the kid. Sam has big dreams. Wants to go to college. Considering their life, it’s laughable, but Dean can’t help but want it all for Sam, too. He’ll get to live vicariously through Sam. That is, if Sam wants to have anything to do with him by the time he graduates from high school. That’s the idea, at least. 

Dean’s already made the call to the school for them, pretending to be their dad (which is their entire fucked up life in a nutshell and  _ god _ , he knows). Dad signs the paperwork before he drops them off at the motel. He wants to head onwards to the next case before nightfall. He won’t say what it is, and it burns Dean to know he’slost the privilege. 

“You know the drill, son.” His father sticks a hand in his pocket, pulls out a wallet. Starts counting bills.

At least there’s the comfort of routine. Duffel bags piled at his feet, Sammy at his side, dad… leaving. He always makes sure Dean knows the rules by heart. It’s been fourteen years of reciting them. Following them. Well, he fucked up that one time. Too many times.

“Don’t answer the phone unless it rings once and cuts out first,” he replies, squaring his shoulders. He knows better than to look bored or get irritated. He’s already fucked up. “Don’t let anyone in, not even you, without the secret knock. Lock and salt windows and doors, keep the shades down. Shoot first, ask questions later, and,” he pauses, slings an arm around Sam’s neck and smiles at his father reassuringly. “Watch out for Sammy.”

“I can take care of myself,” Sam grumbles, jerking away roughly from him and grabbing his bag. He shoulders his way into the room, slamming the door behind him. Doesn’t say goodbye. Dean shrugs and his father shakes his head, hands him the cash and one credit card in the name of Elliot Burker. 

“Be careful, dad,” Dean calls, and watches as his father waves a dismissive hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement. 

“Take care of the car,” he calls back, disappearing around the corner. 

They've got about six weeks in this town, so Dean wastes no time ingratiating himself with the popular crowd. He didn’t want to go to school, but it’s part of the job. Sam needs him here. He knows Sam always has it harder when they hit a new school, so Dean tries to carry it on his shoulders. Then Sam’s just the hot new guy’s cute little brother. 

“Mm, too pretty.” 

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes at the droll tone. The girl who introduces herself as Bela Talbot has a British accent and has the school eating out of her hand. 

Bela has a smile like a knife, and the moment she sees Dean, she cuts right through, and Dean thinks  _ fuck _ . 

It's taking them a while to decide. He lets the girls size him up, but not for too long. There's a fine line, and yeah okay, maybe it's not gonna work this time. Dean can live with that. 

School's a waste of time. And anyway, he hates this shirt, hates the ripped jeans. He’d rather slum it in flannels and his dad’s jacket than get up a whole hour early to shave and style his hair and make sure Sam's fed and sent to class with a packed lunch. 

More than that, he hates the indulgent smirk Bela flashes when Ruby Rosen asks if that tall drink of water is his kid brother,  _ really _ ? 

It’s clear the girls aren't gonna bite, and he’s saved further embarrassment by the bell, so he steps around them, and heads to class. He tells himself he’s not sweating behind his knees and in his palms, but he can't quite convince himself. 

It's Algebra and Blue Eyes is sitting right up front when Dean walks in. Time slows as they lock eyes, like in a movie. 

If it weren't for the fact that he’d seen Blue Eyes getting slapped on the shoulder by another guy on the football team, and overheard their short conversation by his locker about practice later, Dean would have written him off as a nerd. 

He's wearing glasses that frame his stupidly beautiful eyes. It’s hard to miss how good he looks, he’s a goddamn heartthrob. When Dean walks past, he's chewing his stupid, soft-looking lower lip and frowning at the notebook in front of him, open on a page packed with numbers and letters written in a neat script, looking like he's deciphering the secret of the universe and not some bullshit about train A and train B traveling at the speed of witchfuckery. 

Even though Dean knows he'd be an easy way to the top of the social ladder in this school, he decides against it. The cute nerdy jock is wearing a goddamn sweater vest and it just makes him look like he walked out of a chick lit novel, and worst of all, Dean  _ wants _ to kiss him. He wants it too much. Wants him too much. 

Six weeks, Dean tells himself. It would be easy. Besides. It doesn't matter who Blue Eyes is, sitting up front is not his style. Dean didn't even bring a fucking notebook. 

It's a horrible first day, even by his standards. He should be hunting with dad. He broods in his seat by the window, picking at the already fraying edge of the cast around his right wrist. No one expects him to write, but he suspects he hasn’t done enough to detract from the fact that he’s new and sporting a suspicious injury; broken wrist  _ and _ a nasty scratch along the back of his forearm. Guess this is what he gets for fucking up. 

He can't shake the memory of the look on his dad's face. The resigned disappointment and anger at the fact that Dean had let him down. Been careless. Gotten hurt. Fucking vampires. His only saving grace had been that he’d managed to keep Sam safe. 

He’s so lost in thought, he misses the interaction at the front of the classroom and doesn't notice the shuffling of feet until the empty desk next to his is being occupied by Blue Eyes. 

Dean feels his eyes on him like a touch, lingering on his cast, on the edge of the scrape just visible along the curve of his elbow even though he’s resolutely resting his arm on the desk to hide it. Strangely, he doesn't make Dean feel uncomfortable. It’s not like he’d been leering. 

When Dean turns to look at him, he's no longer looking, gaze focused on his book again. 

The teacher's voice drones on, and although Dean surreptitiously watches him out of the corner of his eye, he doesn't look at Dean again. 

When class ends, he slips his notebook onto Dean’s desk wordlessly, looking at him long enough for him to know he's offering up his notes. Someone claps Blue Eyes on the shoulder, and he slips away with them before Dean can thank him. 

Sam doesn’t complain when Dean makes mac and cheese for dinner. He doesn’t answer when Dean asks him how his day was. Dean doesn’t know what’s eating the kid, and he’s too tired to find out. Could just be the whole new school thing. Sam hates hunting, it’s no secret. Moving just rubs it in. 

Dean flips the notebook open, stares at the front page, runs a finger over the letters.  _ Castiel Novak _ . Weird name, he thinks, tossing the book in the direction of his bag and burrowing under the covers. 

###  Week 2

Meg Masters invites Sam to a party. They're in the dingy motel room that serves as 'home' for the next month and a half when Sam brings it up. Dean’s just gotten back from getting hot water from the front desk keurig for their luxurious and totally nutritious dinner of ramen. Well, Sam's eating the ramen. 

Dean’s going to bed hungry, though he’d lied about skipping class with Michael (guy on the football team, and Castiel’s friend) and going on an impromptu date to the diner down the road so Sam would shut up and eat the limited food they have. Dad's due to stop by over the weekend to leave more cash and a new credit card, but he's been known to not make it, so Dean’s learned the hard way to prepare for the worst. 

"Meg," Dean repeats, passing Sam the food and sitting down on the edge of his twin bed. 

He knows who Meg is. Meg's the younger sister of the unholy trio of popular girls that reigned the school. The other two were Bela and Ruby. To find out that they were still interested in Sam bothers Dean but he says nothing about that. If they invited Sam to a party, it meant things were going good for him. If Sam brought it up, it meant he wanted to go. It meant he was feeling accepted. Normal. 

So maybe he didn’t need Dean that much. He didn't need Dean at all. He was growing up. Sometimes Dean forgot that. Sam was still probably too young for this party, though.

"Yeah," Sam says nervously. "I don't  _ have _ to go. I don't really want to go--"

"Nonsense," Dean says firmly, stepping out of his sneakers and flopping onto the bed. He makes a grab for the remote, and is triumphant when Sam's too distracted to fight him. "You're going. You should go. It'll be good for you. Loosen up. Go have fun. Be a normal kid." 

Sam freezes, and Dean thinks he’s said the wrong thing, but a moment later the uncertain look is wiped off his face. He looks determined. He sets his jaw and nods once, curtly. 

"Alright," he concedes, poking at his noodles listlessly. Dean feels a pang of guilt. Though maybe it's just hunger. Sam adds, "Only if you'll go with me." 

"Taking your older brother with you is not the way to get laid at a party, Sammy," he says dryly, deflecting from the fact that Sam’s clearly trying to make him feel included. 

It doesn't particularly worry Dean that he’s not part of the social circlejerk at school, because he doesn't care about school anymore. Not even just to pass the classes. He only goes to keep an eye on Sam. 

"Ew!" Sam protests, throwing a moth-eaten cushion at him. "There's no need to be gross, jerk!" 

Dean smirks at the flush crawling up his little brother's neck. He's still just a kid. Still his kid brother. "Bitch." 

The party's quite nice, even if it is on an unusual Thursday night. Meg's house is palatial. There's a pool in the back. It looks like a party straight out of the movies. 

Dean had sort of tried. They didn't have the money for anything fancy, but he pulled something together for Sam after raiding the local Goodwill. The kid looks like a hipster. Sam seems to like it for now, but Dean makes sure to take a picture on his phone to hold over Sam’s head and embarrass him for years to come. 

Meg's parents are the kind of people that had a party like this  _ catered _ and then fucked off. 

Then again, his father dropped them off in a motel with a stolen credit card and a small arsenal of weapons, so he figures he can’t really judge. 

The drinks come out, and Ruby fawns over Sam some, but Dean doesn't have to worry. He sips on a beer and keeps an eye on Sam, but Sam doesn't set a toe out of line. People offer him drinks, but Sam extricates himself from the worst of the party and heads over to chat up a wholesome blonde girl with a sweet smile. 

Dad stops by on Saturday morning, and Dean’s grateful he refused to let Sam hang out and sleepover with some new friends he'd made. It doesn't matter, though. Dad doesn't look at Dean the way he used to anymore. He can shoot all the cans off the fence and reassemble any weapon blindfolded and have Sam safe and in bed before 10, but it’ll never make up for the screw ups. Dean’s failed him one too many times. 

Dad refuels Baby, and tells them to be careful as he leaves more cash and a new credit card for the room behind. 

"Needs a few more weeks," he grunts, turning the cast over and peering at Dean’s fingers. 

The stitches are healing nicely along the deeper part of the cut, and Dean’s a little proud of what a good, neat little job he’d done. When it heals, it'll barely be noticeable. He’d done it the way he’d seen dad do it. Poured some whiskey on it, heated the needle on a candle, and kept the thread taut between his teeth. 

"Yeah, sorry," Dean says apologetically, unable to meet his father's gaze. He feels horrible. Guilty for failing him. Ashamed that he’s not able to help on this hunt. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that dad wishes Dean was older. Stronger. "It's pretty inconvenient." 

"How's school?" he asks after a long, quiet, unreadable moment. He doesn’t have the time to worry about Dean because he has to worry about Sam. That’s Dean’s job, though. He can’t change the fact that he’s young, but he can do his damn job. Make sure Sam’s okay. One less thing for dad to worry about. 

Dean knows how to answer. "Lame. Boring," he says with a cocksure grin. He can't help the honest glimmer of pride when he adds, "Sammy's doing real good, though." 

Dad nods. Looks away. Says, “Stay outta trouble.”

“Dad, I can help,” he protests. The impatience nags at him. The unfairness of this whole thing makes him want to break something. “If you’d just tell me about the case. I can do some research at the library--” Something. Anything.

“Dean.” His voice is a growl, sharp, authoritarian and final. Dean shuts up. “You’ll stay here and out of trouble. Keep your head down. Watch out for your brother.”

Dean grits his teeth. Nails bite into the skin of his palm. Pain lances up his bruised and broken hand but he ignores it. Forcing himself to relax his jaw, he breathes out and glares at the ugly carpet. He almost wants to cry in frustration but that’s a mistake. It’s worse than getting hurt and fucking up. He has to be strong. Strong enough. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“Yes sir,” he says, and straightens his spine in relief when his voice doesn’t shake. “Stay out of trouble.” He blinks back the tears, but dad’s not looking at him. He’s already halfway to the door. 

  
  


###  Week 3

They're at the halfway mark, and Dean is counting the days. If he’d just not gone in that first week, he could've gotten away with not going at all. He’s old enough that no one blinks when he uses a credit card or flashes a fake ID (though that could just be because he’s gotten good at making them), but he has to keep going to school because he tried for Sam. Now there's the danger of drawing the attention of some nosy teacher if he stops going.

"How's your hand?" Blue Eyes asks abruptly, and Dean’s head snaps up. 

_ Castiel Novak _ . Dean tried a few times to sound the syllables out. Cas. 

It's the first time he's spoken to Dean, and fuck, his voice is crazy deep. Crazy hot, like the rest of him. 

Dean had seen him at Meg’s party, and thought about going over while tipsy on wine coolers. But then Dean had seen him with Meg Masters, birthday girl extraordinaire, kissing against the staircase. 

It made something sharp in Dean’s chest catch, knowing the way Castiel looked when he kissed. It rattled him to know how much he wanted to fit in that space. Be the one to kiss Castiel’s stupid, handsome face. Dean had forced Sam to head home after that because he’d needed to clear his head. That life wasn't for him. The dangerous path Dean was careening down when he thought about Castiel? It wasn’t for Dean.

When Dean returned his notebook, he'd just accepted it with a nod. He'd tried to give Dean his notes at the end of that class again, but Dean shook his head. He was way too behind to catch up. Besides, he’d only taken them the first time to see his name. 

He knows it's  _ Castiel _ , but he tells himself he should still call him Blue Eyes, even in his head. Makes it easier to forget him and all the little things Dean knows about him. 

Like his neat, compact handwriting. The way he tilts his head and squints when he’s listening hard. Or the faraway look in his eyes. Dean recognizes that look. Castiel might be one of the most popular kids here but he doesn't belong. Dean sees the part of him that yearns to belong, but misses the mark somehow. Or he thinks he sees it. 

Sometimes Dean fantasizes that he's a hunter’s kid. Born into the life, just like him. He wishes that they could have some kind of shared experience, but then he feels sick for wishing that on Castiel. He shakes himself out of those daydreams because Castiel is a perfectly nice person. Dean doesn't want that messed up, dirty, scared life for him. 

Castiel might be a faker just like him, and nothing like him all at once, but that’s where any similarity between them begins and ends. 

Dean looks at the cast now, and it's in miserable shape. He’s been sticking plastic forks in it, itching his wrist. And his motel room cooking has done a real number on it, splashes of spaghetti sauce and mustard fading and dirty all over it. At some point, Sam had signed it. The bruises peeking out from under the cast, spidering up his fingers are still blotchy and yellowish green, some still purple. 

He’s not sure what to say in response to the question, but he’s sure long enough has passed since Castiel asked that whatever he says will sound awkward, so he just shrugs. 

Castiel is still looking at him with that brilliant blue gaze, intelligent and piercing. When Dean looks at him this time, he doesn't look away. And Dean thinks dizzily, he could go for the dead poets society thing. Or is he a jock with a heart of gold? Whatever Castiel is, and Dean’s just shy of knowing enough to classify him. Dean just  _ feels _ like he knows him, which is weird because that’s usually a bad sign. 

"Let's go," Castiel says suddenly, and he gets to his feet with his bag, walking out of the classroom as the last of the students are still filtering into class. Dean stares after him, stunned. Then he’s scrambling to follow. 

"Do you have a car?" Castiel asks when they're outside, and Dean gives him a flat look. Of course he has a car. Baby's more than just a car, though. She's home. "Just drive," he says when Dean asks where, and Dean can do that. 

They don’t talk for a while. The freeway is familiar to Dean, like the back of his hand. Same but different. A stretch of road, running somewhere, anywhere. Dad doesn’t let him drive much. Dean relaxes for the first time in weeks. 

"Didn't peg you for a rule breaker," he observes, spreading his legs a little as Baby opens up on the road, rumbling comfortingly around them. They're about ten miles away from school. Far away. Far enough. 

Castiel doesn't reply immediately. "You didn't want to be there," he says eventually, and it shouldn't make Dean warm all over, heart racing like he’s got a crush, but it does. Dean can tell Castiel is not looking at him. He’s looking out the window, watching the exits slip away behind them. This time when Dean glances at him, seeing the sunlight dance over his sharp, beautiful features, he looks dangerous and lovely, and Dean wants him so much it hurts a little. 

They leave the city behind. Eventually Castiel starts to give directions, stirring from his meditative silence to speak in soft murmurs. They end up parking on a hill that overlooks the city dump, and Dean thinks it might've been a date. 

  
  


###  Week 4

Turns out Cas is a huge nerd. Like a mathlete, but he leans towards science and philosophy. He takes football as seriously as he takes algebra. He doesn't actually have any strong feelings about either, but he seems to think he has to be good at everything. Be the boy next door. He worries about his fucking circadian rhythm for crying out loud and Dean has to look that up on Sam's laptop when he gets home. They couldn't be more different, and yet. 

When he asks about Dean, he sounds genuinely interested, and not like he's asking to fill in the gaps of a conversation. Not so he's one step closer to getting his dick wet. And the strange part is, Dean wants to tell him. And the even stranger part is, his half-lies sound terrible in comparison to Castiel’s white bread suburban life, and Cas doesn't seem to think less of him for any of it. 

They skip the last period and go to the park a lot. Cas pays for gas once, and when he asks to stop to grab a bite, he offers to split the bill until he realizes abruptly that Dean can’t afford it. He makes a huge show of pretending to need to put it on his dad’s credit card, sparing Dean the embarrassment. The next day Dean finds he’s packed them sandwiches. All they need is a fucking gingham blanket now. 

Cas doesn't kiss him right away. He takes about five days to get around to it. He talks about bees, of all things. He actually keeps a respectable distance when they walk through the park. The thought makes Dean laugh because he’s far from respectable.

He stares at his scarred up knee through the hole in his jeans when they sit on a bench. When they finally meet shyly in a kiss, he’s not sure who started it. Their chins tilt up into it, and when they come down from it, they sigh, lips parted. Dean finds the warmth of Cas’ breath against his chin addictive. The press of his forehead so dear. He’s kissed boys before, though Robin had been his first, but it's never been like this. 

Cas doesn't talk a lot, but he says the most achingly sincere things when he does. Dean’s been called beautiful before, in ways that made his skin crawl, in ways that made him plaster on a fake smirk and use it as leverage. And yet, when Cas calls him beautiful, his heart races, his breath catches tightly in his chest. He blushes. He has to fight a smile. He kisses Cas so he won't break his heart. 

Dean doesn't tell Sam about him, because what would be the point? Besides, he’s afraid he’ll blurt out something stupid. Like the way he’d felt when Cas had reached out for his hand, found it and entwined their fingers. Like they could be together. Like he could have a fucking boyfriend. He didn't do normal, and he knew why. Normal wasn't on the cards for him. He’d made his peace with his lot in life. 

Wanting to be normal was Sam's thing, not his. 

His world had collided with Cas' and soon he’d be gone, and Dean would be a (hopefully good) hazy blip in Cas’ memory. 

Cas rests his head in Dean’s lap sometimes. To his own surprise, Dean lets him. He listens as Cas talks about wanting to be a doctor. Of course Cas wants to help people. Dean runs a hand through his soft hair and listens to him, watching the faraway look in his gorgeous eyes. 

"What do you wanna do?" Cas asks, trapping Dean in place with a single, arresting look. 

Dean’s sure his heart stops for a second because he actually thinks about it. "Kiss you," he says instead. 

He sees the way Cas’ lips part in a protest when the shutters come down, but Dean’s quicker than him. He tightens a hand in Cas’ hair, and bends to kiss him. When he pulls away with the taste of Cas’ lips on his, he expects Cas to push him to answer again, but Cas just keeps his hand wound in his hair for a moment before letting go. 

And Cas sits up, like something from a dream Dean didn’t dare to have. He rests a hand on Dean’s knee, his bony, scarred up knee, and kisses him again. 

He does things like that sometimes. Tugs at Dean’s hair gently, like he's trying to memorize the texture of it. Sometimes when they're necking like the horny teenagers they are, Cas freaking smells his hair, the sweat that gathers in the crook of his neck. And Dean thinks wryly about the single serve, cheap motel shampoo and soap he’d used, and feels his throat lock up when he realizes Cas is trying to memorize him like he  _ knows _ . Like he knows Dean’s going to wreck him and leave. 

Cas kisses his forehead, and kisses the freckles on his nose and kisses the fading bruises on his hand and kisses his disgusting, dirty cast and Dean doesn't know what to do with him. Doesn't know what to do with this beautiful, strange boy  _ cherishing _ him. 

One evening they're looking up at the stars, the Impala's hood warm and safe under them, Cas' chest pillowing his cheek and Dean thinks about stars aligning. Sam's at a friend's having a sleepover because tomorrow's Saturday, and Dean thinks it's okay to forget about worrying about him for an evening. Cas' hand covers his broken wrist, keeping it pressed against his heart, and it all feels so unreal and happy, like a djinn-induced dream. 

Dean tries to shake the grip of fear in his chest by kissing up Cas' jaw to his lips, and Cas turns to kiss him back, smiling against his mouth when the metal creeks under him. Cas’ hand comes to rest chastely in the dip of Dean’s waist, and Dean pulls away from the kiss with a sigh. Dean stares at him, watches him drag his gaze up from Dean’s lips to look into his eyes, breathing, just waiting. 

"Dean," he says, voice low and rough, and Dean shivers. He wants to disappear with Cas, but Cas doesn't know anything about him. So why does he feel like Cas sees right through him? Why does he feel like Cas knows his soul? 

The lump forms in Dean’s throat before he can stop himself and fuck, Dean realizes dizzily. He’s gone and messed up again, letting Cas in like this. He wants to be a million miles away, tearing along a highway, escaping with Cas by his side, but he can't. Cas senses something's wrong, because he always fucking does, the stupid perceptive asshole. 

"I need you," Dean whispers roughly, shivery and jittery all over. He grabs Cas’ hand where it's resting on his waist and pushes it under his shirt. Cas looks at him questioningly, and for a moment Dean thinks he won’t be able to slip past again. And then Cas gets with the program, and his big broad hand flattens against Dean’s stomach, skimming up his ribs, up the fading scar from when he was clawed by a werewolf, and he thumbs a nipple. Dean’s breath catches, and Cas takes mercy on him. He kisses Dean and touches him until he’s hard and panting. 

They climb into the backseat clumsily and Cas kisses the line of Dean’s throat, down the plains of Dean’s chest, and Dean clutches at the soft, dark shock of his hair as he mouths wetly around Dean’s navel, teasing just under the line of his boxers with a clever tongue. Dean feels like he’s very close to falling apart. 

He’s never gotten this far before. He’s given a few blowjobs, and had his ass grabbed with rough, groping hands, but no one has kissed and touched him like this. He hadn't particularly enjoyed the stuff he’d done before, but then again, it was that or let Sam starve. 

This feels really good, though. He’s so hard it kinda aches, but he feels like he’s going to cry, overwhelmed, and it's stupid because it's just sex. It's just this-- and he’d totally let Cas fuck him. He wants Cas to do it. 

Cas pulls back abruptly, and Dean can feel the hard line of his cock against his thigh as he shifts. He looks down at Dean, eyes bright in the gloom, and cups his cheek sweetly, stroking the blush on his cheek tenderly as he pants. 

"Why'd you stop?" Dean asks, swallowing thickly, tugging his shirt down before Cas can ask about the werewolf scratch. It's ugly and now he feels ugly and self-conscious.

Cas looks at him like he always does, like Dean hung the fucking moon, and Dean knows why. Cas shrugs. "I don't know." 

  
  


###  Week 5

"You know I'm not actually a cheerleader, right?" Dean says wryly, squinting as the sun beats down hot. He’s wearing jeans and Cas' hoodie over his t-shirt because even though it's sunny, and May, and practically summer, a cool breeze cuts through the field. Summer’s late to Rexford. 

Dean stopped wearing his dad's leather jacket somewhere after their second week here. He’s sitting on the bleachers and Cas is standing a few steps below him. Cas rests his chin in Dean’s lap, looking up at him hopefully. Dean bends to grab him a bottle of gatorade and the hoodie slips down his shoulder. When Cas tugs it back up, Dean bites his lip to keep from smiling. 

Cas is asking him to go to the last game of the season. 

Cas takes a swig and hops up to sit beside him easily. "I want you there," he says simply, and Dean closes his legs so he can scoot closer without being called out on it. Cas smells like sweat and dirt and grass and Dean enjoys it more than he probably should. Cas isn’t wearing his glasses right now either and Dean wants to take advantage of it. Then Cas says something that makes Dean’s throat close up. "You're my boyfriend." 

Dean realizes he’d been playing with Cas’ fingers in his lap, thumb rubbing against the calluses on his palm. He let's go like he’s been burned. "I gotta go," he says abruptly, unzipping the hoodie as he gets to his feet. He drops it in a puddle next to Cas. "I gotta pick up Sam," he lies, although that's not strictly a lie. 

"Dean," Cas sighs, like he expected that, and it makes Dean stop. For a long moment they look at each other and Dean thinks Cas is gonna fight him this time. He's gonna tell Dean to stop running away. He's gonna ask Dean what his fucking problem is. He's gonna tell Dean he’s damn lucky Cas even bothers with the likes of him. 

But Cas' gaze drops and he just says, "I understand." 

And Dean wants to yell and shake him by the shoulders, wants Cas to fight  _ for _ him, but at the same time he’s grateful because... well, what's the point? 

Later, Dean texts him. They never do that. He’s had Cas’ number (and Cas had his) for a while, but they talk in school and wander out together, so there's never been much of a need. Today, he sends,  _ Boyfriend, huh? _

Cas doesn't reply for a few long minutes. Dean’s about to toss his phone aside, fretfully thinking he’s crossed some line. Especially after the way he’d left. And then his phone buzzes. 

_ Yes _ . It buzzes again. _ I realize I should've actually asked you out first _ . 

Dean grins like a fool.  _ No, it's fair. We go on dates. We got to 2nd base. Sry I gave you blue balls.  _

_ It was not hard to stop. I respect you, Dean.  _

Dean blushes because jesus. Cas respects him. Who says that? Who talks like that? His heart's thumping hard, and he can't be bothered to bring himself down because it feels so good to be cared about by a boy like Cas. Dean can't remember someone ever respecting him. All he knows is being a disappointment, being a fuck up, being too weak, being a liability, being bait. He lets himself revel in it for a moment. Then he sends, _ I didn't say no _ . 

_ No _ , Cas agrees,  _ but you didn't say yes eithe _ r. Dean’s face hurts from smiling because Cas knows him. More intimately and more truly than anyone ever has. A moment later, he receives,  _ Will you be my boyfriend, Dean?  _

Dean knows he should dread the question. The truth is, he cares about Cas. He’s come scarily close to certain feelings. Feelings he shouldn't allow himself to have, because that way lies stupidity. Pain. He shouldn't be staring at the screen of his phone, smiling like an idiot. He shouldn't be suppressing the urge to squeal and kick his feet in the air to dispel some of the excitement and happiness bubbling in him, but he is. 

"What are you smiling about?" 

At the sound of Sam's voice, he jumps, phone sliding out of his grasp and falling into the footwell of the car. "Nothing," he lies, scrambling to pick up his phone. And then he realizes that's the wrong answer because Sam looks at him suspiciously. "Just sexting some guy," he says with a sigh, ignoring the fact that the lie sits heavily on his tongue and his heart. "Sent him a dick pic and he's got a--"

"Okay, stop," Sam says, expression twisting into disgust. "I really don't need to know."

Dean shrugs. "You asked." 

When Sam pulls the door open and dives for his phone, Dean doesn't expect him to read it, especially after that. He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. 

"Whoa," Sam says, and he sounds... not the kind of shocked Dean’s expecting. Dean glances at him and sees Sam’s on his phone and thinks,  _ shit _ . But he’s gotta keep his eye on the road, 'cuz the traffic around the school at this hour is stupid. 

"What?" he snaps instead, trying to grab his phone out of Sam's grasp blindly. Sam relinquishes it easily and that should clue Dean in, but it doesn't for some reason. 

"You've got a boyfriend?" Sam asks, and he doesn't sound accusing, just curious and interested. Dean’s face heats and he gets defensive anyway. But before he can say anything, Sam says softly, almost sadly and pityingly, "Dean, he says he loves you."

And it's the way Sam says it that does him in. Like he knows it's for real. Like he feels bad for Dean. 

Dean should make a joke. A flippant remark about Cas not meaning anything to him. But he can’t. 

Cas loves him. 

_ Loves _ . 

This is... not how he wanted to find out. 

So he white knuckles the steering wheel all the way to the motel but he refuses to break his silence or answer any of Sam's questions. When he’s scraping together dinner, Sam says, "Dean, we could ask dad to let us stay a little longer. You could graduate." 

Dean’s hands clench around the bowl in front of him and he closes his eyes. "Shut up, Sam," he says warningly. 

He still hasn't replied to Cas, and his phone hasn't buzzed again, and the worst part is it makes his heart ache. He can't stop thinking about replying. About saying something. But... What can he say that won't hurt Cas? And how can Cas love him anyway? It's barely been a couple weeks. Cas doesn't know  _ anything _ . He has no idea. He wouldn't think he loved Dean if he had any idea. 

And now Dean realizes why he hasn't told Sam about Cas. He’s pretending to be the kind of person that deserves Cas. Because Cas is the kind of boy who cares about bees. Cas saves the front seat in class for a geeky kid and probably protects a bunch of other ones from being bullied. Cas gives his notes to the new kid with the broken arm just because. 

If he knew what Dean really was, he wouldn't love Dean. He’s a mercenary. He’s killed things. He’s been covered in blood and worse and dug up graves. He’s hustled pool and sucked dick for money. And he’ll do it again to protect his family. 

"Dean," Sam starts to protest hotly, and Dean forgets and slams his broken wrist on the table in front of him. The cans of spaghettios rattle. Sam goes silent. 

"Don't you have some homework to do? Or do you  _ want _ to get your ass kicked?" he snarls even though he feels close to tears, and it's not from the pain lancing up his arm. Sam must see it in his face because he looks away. 

When he turns the lights off, he sends off a  _ Yes _ to Cas, even though it's probably too late. 

He’s too weak, and he doesn't want Cas to hate him until after he’s gone. Until after he can't see the damage he’s done. Dean silently cries himself to sleep for the first time in forever and when he wakes up, he finds Sam has crawled into bed beside him, for the first time since he was about ten. 

  
  


###  Week 6

Dean’s got their bags packed and ready to go. Some of Sam's underwear could've gone through the washer once, but it can't be helped. If it's time to go, it's time to go.

He’s actually kind of okay with it. Leaving hurts, but he’d resigned himself to it, and now that he’s accepted it, it’s not so bad. It’s been what– three? four? weeks. Cas will get over it. And if he doesn’t, Dean will be long gone anyway. He ignores the part of his heart that protests every single rational thought he’s trying to have. 

Dean stares at his reflection in the spotted, blurry mirror of the bathroom for a moment, pushing a hand through his wet hair. It's getting a little long, curling wetly at the temples. He likes to keep it short. Easier to wash blood and supernatural gunk out. 

He looks at his eyes instead, green and sharp. His mom’s eyes. He’s got his mom's cheeks and lips and bone structure too, and he can hope it’ll square and fill out as he grows older. Now all dad sees in him is the shadow of the love he lost. 

Dad sees Mary, not Dean. Cas sees someone he thinks he loves and it's flattering. 

Dean sees a kid. It’s infuriating. He’s not too fond of the freckles, but they're cute and he can see the appeal. He’s too thin, but there’s still a softness around his belly that never really goes away. His shoulders will fill out, and he’ll grow a few more inches. He’ll get there. He’ll be strong enough soon. 

He wishes wistfully, that he’d had the chance to tell Cas to take his virginity, but somehow the words got stuck in his throat. And Cas never asked. It would’ve been nice. Cas would’ve treated Dean better than whatever other dirtbag gets to do it. 

"Dean!" Sam calls and Dean snaps out of his daydream. He calls back that he needs a minute and starts to get dressed. "Dad says he's delayed by a couple weeks," Sam announces, pressing on anyway. Dean can tell he's leaning against the bathroom door to let him know because it’s paper thin. It made things about a hundred times worse when Sam wanted to jerk off, but now Dean’s grateful for it. 

He stops, feeling numb, reeling, and realizes he has the opportunity to say goodbye to Cas. Properly. He sags against the sink, and presses a hand to his mouth, desperately trying to keep from making a sound. He’s happy and he knows he shouldn't be, but he can't help it. He realizes he should probably ask why dad's delayed.

"Uncle Bobby caught wind of a rugaru a state over and called him for back up. Since the card's still good, he thought it was best if we stayed put," Sam explains. Then he asks if he can have pizza with his friends, and Dean agrees to let him sleepover at Gabriel's. 

It's midnight when his phone rings. He’s alone, so he answers, drawing his knees up to his chest. Cas had no idea he was leaving, but Dean feels sheepish, relieved and guilty all at once. It's a near thing he’s able to answer at all. 

"Hello, Dean," Cas greets, voice lush and dark and warm. Dean can hear how happy he is and it makes his heart hammer in his chest, doing a frenetic little number on him. "Did I wake you?" he asks, sounding concerned. 

"Nah," he replies with a nonchalance that comes easy because it's Cas, and then as Cas blabbers about college applications, Dean finds himself talking about how he wants to fix cars. He doesn't know why, but he spills it all. Stuff he’s never told Sammy or dad or anyone. Stuff he’s never even thought aloud about. He even tells Cas he’d kinda gotten into wrestling for a while, even if he can't elaborate that it was when he was at a boys’ home. 

He just wants Cas to know about him. And Cas listens patiently. 

"Dunno if I'll ever do it, though. It's stupid," he trails off shyly, picking at hole in the cheap motel comforter, because it is stupid. There's no room for more school in his life. Certainly not college. 

"It's not stupid," Cas says, and he actually sounds impatient. Like he's afraid to say what he thinks but this time he's gonna bite the bullet and do it. "Dean, you're brilliant. I don't know why you refuse to apply yourself, because it's clear to me that you’d excel at whatever you want if you gave it half your attention." He breaks off abruptly with a sigh and when Dean doesn't say anything, he apologizes. He has no idea, but at the same time, he knows better than to ask. Cas is so wonderful in every way that Dean knows he deserves better. 

"I didn’t mean to talk about all this. I just… wanted to hear your voice tonight." 

When Dean asks why, he hesitates. "It doesn't make sense, but I just got this... feeling. You weren't at school today, and neither was Sam. I got worried. And I thought... Dean." 

He doesn't say it, but Dean’s chest clenches because somehow, Cas knew. 

"Cas," he breathes. 

Cas sighs and Dean wishes they were together. Wishes he could run a hand through Cas’ crazy hair until he relaxed. 

"Will you come to the game?" Cas pleads, and Dean has to suppress a smile. He lets him suffer for a moment and Cas says, earnestly, seriously, "I'll win for you. If you're there. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” 

Dean knows he's laying it on thick, but in his own way he really means it too. Cas never says anything unless he means it. It's all kinds of sweet. 

At the game, Dean looks bored for Sam, but he ends up cheering when they win. Cas spots him in the crowd, and their eyes meet across the ground and Dean feels warm all over. He can’t believe this is his life. It’s like something out of a chick flick. For a moment Cas' team engulfs him in a group hug, but then he's tearing away from them, past the cheerleaders and to the stands. 

Dean forgets that Sam's watching when he hurries down. Cas doesn't even let him speak. His grin is so wide it's almost all gums, and he tosses his helmet to the ground so he can grab Dean by the hips and kiss him. Hard. 

Dean circles his arms around Cas’ neck, kissing him back just as hard, tasting the salt on his lips, and feeling the heat radiating off his firm, tightly muscled body, the sweat dampened hair at the nape of Cas’ neck sweeping against his arm. 

"You look good," Cas pants when they break apart to breathe. It's pandemonium all around them, but Dean feels alone in the world with Cas. It's satisfying and thrilling all at once. He’s so happy it actually scares him a little. 

Dean pushes his forehead against Cas’ and kisses him again. "So do you." 

  
  


###  Week 7 

Cas' dad is a missionary, so his parents travel a lot. Together. Which means he's home alone a lot. Dean doesn't know whether to be annoyed that it took Cas so long to tell him that, or to be pleased that he finally did. 

Their house is filled with souvenirs from their travels. Little biblical posters hang above nearly every door. Cas invites him home after school once and Dean’s filled with equal parts of envy and horror. Envy because Cas has parents and a home, but horror because that explains the funny name, and he couldn't imagine living in a religious home. 

Dean lies down on Cas' bed, relishing the clean softness, free of mysterious stains and stale smells. He looks at the ceiling, littered with glow-in-the dark stars, and tries to imagine what Cas thinks about before he sleeps. His serious contemplation is ruined when Cas blows a raspberry into his belly. Dean makes an embarrassing high-pitched noise that has Cas laughing. 

And then Cas is kissing the scowl off his face, hand sliding up his thigh. 

"You ever touch yourself here?" Dean asks, slipping a hand under Cas' shirt. He's settled down beside Dean, half on top of him, kissing along his collar. Cas has an embarrassment of riches here – his own bed and a door with a lock. Privacy. 

"I've thought about you," Cas admits, looking amused when Dean gapes at him. "Once or twice."

"Preacher's son," he accuses and Cas rolls his eyes. 

"Missionary," he corrects. 

"That's pretty vanilla of you, Cas, but we can do that," Dean quips and it's Cas’ turn to blush. Dean squeezes his ass through his jeans, something he’d been dying to do since he saw it clad in grass-stained tights. It's just as firm and satisfying as he thought it'd be. Cas buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and groans. 

"Can I touch you?" Cas asks tentatively a few moments later. 

Dean bites his lip, not trusting himself to speak and nods. Cas kisses him, soft and sweet, and Dean melts into it, smiling when Cas walks his fingers down his stomach. He pulls back to look at Dean, still so close that he thinks his eyes might cross a little.

“Is this okay?" Cas asks in a whisper, fingers playing with the button of his jeans. Dean nods again. He gets the fly undone without breaking eye contact, like he's waiting for Dean to change his mind, but it's also inexplicably about more than that. And then Cas’ hand is dipping under his underwear, through the wiry patch of hair and Dean flushes. No one’s ever touched him there before. Should he have shaved? Cas breathes out, and it's a loud rush of noise to Dean’s ears.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently, fingers curling slightly like he wants to go lower, like he wants to touch Dean so badly, but he's stopping himself. It's too late now to care about not being groomed downstairs, so Dean throws caution to the wind and nods again. Cas doesn't seem to mind either way. 

His breath catches when Cas touches her dick and looks at him in adoration. Cas’ fingers feel almost cool against the sensitive skin, but then Dean realizes he’s just that hot, body geared up and strung out. He winds a hand in Cas’ hair, anchors himself and Cas rubs an orgasm out of him, his long, clever fingers stroking him through it, inch by inch. Dean comes with a soft cry, thighs shaking, face buried in Cas’ neck, panting. 

"You're beautiful, Dean," he whispers reverently, kissing the salt off his skin, from his sternum to the beads above his upper lip, to the sheen across his temple. He lulls Dean slowly back to himself, strong arms wrapped around him. Dean fists a hand in his shirt and clings, shivering in the afterglow. He’s never experienced anything like that. Someone who did something just for him. No expectations. No demands or bargains. 

Dean tries to return the favor and even though Cas is hard, he rolls him onto his back and kisses him instead. "I want to remember you like this," Cas murmurs against his lips by way of explanation. "Just like this."

"Hey," Dean mumbles, dazed and sleepy, guard lowered completely. 

Cas pushes the sweat-damp hair back from his forehead and kisses him between the eyebrows. It's so sweet, a lump forms in his throat. "Hello Dean."

"I don't wanna wait anymore, Cas," he says, because now he’s afraid. Dad’s gonna come back and he won't be able to give Cas this. Won't be able to share it with him. And he wants to. He’s wanted very few things as badly as he wants this. 

Cas' brow furrows adorably. "There's no rush, Dean" 

"I don't want to wait," he repeats and kisses Cas so he won't sense his anxiety and guilt. 

Cas nods when he pulls away from the kiss, clearly worn down, and traces nonsense patterns on Dean’s chest until he has to go get Sam and go 'home'. He smiles during the drive back even though his underwear is a little sticky and damp and uncomfortable. It's proof. 

Cas insists they get some studying done the next time he goes over. Dean pretends for about a half hour for Cas' sake. Just 'cuz he’s an idiot with no prospects doesn't mean he has to bring Cas down. 

He gives up the third time Cas runs a foot up his calf. They were sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, feet meeting in the middle, but now Dean moves to rest his shoulder against Cas’. 

Cas pretends to concentrate valiantly for another ten minutes while Dean does his best to distract with his hands and mouth. He slumps lower and lower against the cushions before giving up and burying his face in Dean’s neck. It's pretty hilarious that Cas' solution to being harassed is to start giving him a hickey.

"Enjoying yourself?" Dean asks, resting a hand in Cas' hair, arm braced against the back of the couch. 

"You're seducing me," Cas observes dryly, and it's unfair how fast he's making Dean hard. Lazily, Cas circles his finger around a nipple. 

"Maybe," Dean hedges, trying to wrestle him onto his back. Cas puts up a fight just to play around but he’s not really trying. He's careful with the broken wrist. 

Dean doesn't fool himself into thinking he actually won because while he is fairly strong, he only knows how to fight dirty. Besides Cas is an athlete, and he has a bunch of weight and muscle mass and a tiny bit of height over him. Just a little bit. 

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean straddles him with a smug smirk. Cas’ hands come to rest on his hips. He's smiling up at Dean with such open affection that Dean doesn't expect the way he flips them over. The startled sound he makes is cut off by a gasp as Cas pushes his shirt up and fastens his mouth around a nipple. 

"Cas," he says in a strangled voice but Cas just sucks harder, sending pulses of hot pleasure pooling into his belly. He licks and sucks his way down until Dean’s practically writhing in frustration, dick hard and aching for more. 

"Cas, please," he begs, and Cas soothes him with a kiss, shuddering against his lips when Dean palms his cock through his jeans. 

"Next time," Cas promises, pressing his forehead against Dean’s. He lets Dean jerk him off and comes with his mouth against Dean’s chest, a hickey blossoming just above his left pec. Some of Cas’ come has spilled onto him, and Dean shouldn't find that hot, but he does. 

Cas smiles sheepishly, and Dean’s struck again by how handsome he is when he pulls his shirt off and wipes Dean clean before tossing it aside. He coaxes an orgasm out of Dean after that, pulling off a spectacular blowjob for someone claiming to be a novice. Dean unspools, sticky and sated, content to let Cas rest with his head against his chest. And when Cas starts to toy with him and wind him up again, sending him home horny, he doesn't mind terribly. 

  
  


###  Week 8

Sam needs some jeans because he's hit another growth spurt and he's been wearing his old ones as low as he possibly can but they still skim his ankles. It's starting to draw attention, and that's the last thing they want, so Dean decides to risk pushing the credit card to its limit and takes him to the mall. 

He spots it when they walk past a Victoria’s Secret, and abandons Sam at the Auntie Anne's line so he can come back and buy them. He only feels a little guilty about the splurge. It's actually called angel tulle something and it's got this velvety blue piping that makes him think of Cas, which is probably worse than the fact that he’s buying lingerie to please Cas. 

Cas has never given any indication that he cares about that stuff, but Dean figures what guy doesn't? His face is aflame when he buys it because he’s trying to picture how much Cas would like it, and because the sales lady clearly thinks he’s buying it for a girlfriend. 

Cas would probably leave it on, appreciating that Dean bought it for him, but a small part of Dean is terrified he won’t be into it at all. He rips the tags off and tosses the bag away immediately, shoving it down deep into his backpack so Sam won't ask any questions. 

Dean lets his nerdy kid brother wander around the Barnes & Noble after he gets his jeans, and thinks about how far off the res he’s gotten because he’s actually sitting here, thinking about dolling himself up for Cas. 

He tries not to spend too many evenings at Cas' because he’s supposed to keep an eye on Sam, but Dean can't help his traitorous heart. This was never on the cards for him, this life, but if he can get a glimpse into it, he’ll take it. He’ll hold it in his chest like a fond memory and savor it for the rest of his short, bitter, shitty life. 

So it's nice to spoon Cas and stroke his hair while he studies, only to wake up an hour or so later from a nap with Cas spooning him, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin beneath his ear. 

"... so yes, I love you," Cas whispers, and Dean realizes he thinks Dean’s still asleep. Dean holds his breath as he goes on. "I know I shouldn't. I know it's too soon. I know you're hiding something, but I don't care. Nothing can change how I feel because I know that it's you. For me. And I love you." 

Dean can't help it, his heart gives him away, pounding against his rib cage and Cas sighs into his hair. "Dean," he says, and abruptly Dean’s turning around. There's a quiet intensity in Cas’ eyes, and when Dean stares at him, Cas cups his neck, long fingers sliding in his hair. 

He lies back and lets Dean kiss down his stomach. He doesn't ask why Dean’s got flavored condoms in her back pocket. Dean blows him inexpertly despite his experience, and Cas watches like he can't look away. When Dean pulls the condom off and ties it off in a knot, Cas shivers, and when Dean tucks him back into his boxer briefs, he nuzzles into Dean’s side. 

Dean cuddles up to him because apparently he’s a goddamn cuddler now, and slides his legs between Cas’, enjoying the weight and heat of his body. 

Thumbing his lip gently, Dean smiles when Cas pillows his head with his arm, hand coming around to squeeze and rub Dean’s shoulder. Cas has this way of making him feel looked after without making him feel small. 

"Hey, so how about tomorrow?" Dean asks, and Cas is already sliding a hand under his shirt, but he stops. 

"Tomorrow?" he asks, cocking his head slightly. 

"Yeah," he tries for casual and fails because Cas is looking at him intently, and despite everything he’s told himself, Dean’s learning he’s a huge sap when it comes to Cas. This is a Big Deal to him, and it's all Cas' fault. "Let's take the day off. Have sex." 

Cas blinks at him, processing this. "Okay," he says eventually, and Dean releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "I assume you mean anal sex," Cas continues, and Dean chokes on a breath because jeez. He rubs Dean’s back, and Dean rolls his eyes fondly. "Dean, you should know I'm a virgin," he says frankly. 

Dean pushes himself up on an elbow and raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him. 

Cas has the grace to look abashed. "I did a lot of research," he admits, and he's grabbing Dean’s ass, squeezing to distract him. It's working a little, but also Cas is blushing sweetly, and there's no way Dean’s not all over that. He looks mildly affronted when Dean laughs, but he lets Dean kiss the look off his face. 

"What's Illinois like?" he asks a while later, when Dean’s sitting up and tying his shoelaces, getting ready to leave. 

"Hm?"

"You never talk about life before here," he explains, and Dean freezes. Right. That's the story they'd given. What was the town's name? 

"Not much to tell," he says, forcing himself to relax. It helps that Cas is lying down and Dean’s facing away. He doesn't know why it's gotten so hard to lie to Cas. Except he does. He’s in too deep. "We moved around a lot before we got here. Dad's a marine." He turns to look at Cas, and rests a hand on his knee and smiles. "I'm taking one of your shirts 'cuz you ruined mine by jizzing on it." That's a flagrant lie, but Dean wants Cas to have something of his, and he wants it to be his favorite, the worn to softness and littered with holes around the neck AC/DC shirt. 

Cas blushes anyway, and Dean smirks as he walks over to his closet, listening to him promise to have the shirt cleaned. His fingers linger over his sky blue jersey, but he changes his mind. It's too obvious. He snags a similarly colored button down and pulls it on. It smells like Cas and his clean, fresh detergent. 

"I like how you look in my clothes," Cas says, walking Dean to the door. He kisses Dean, deep and soulful. "In my house. In my life," he whispers, and Dean keeps his eyes closed because he can't. He can't have all that. 

"I like it here," Dean whispers, drawing in a breath when Cas wraps an arm around his waist like he never wants to let go. Here. This liminal space. This happy dream. 

  
  


###  Day 54

"Where are you going?" Sam demands, because he's a nosy shit. Dean wishes he'd just shut up and go to school already, but he's probably picked up on Dean’s nervousness from the way he’s tapping the steering wheel impatiently. 

He’s wearing Cas' shirt, which Sam had eyed but not asked about, but he couldn’t put on the panties. That’ll have to wait until he gets to Cas’ house. Just thinking about it makes his cheeks burn. 

"Have a nice day, bitch," Dean says cheerily instead, and Sam rolls his eyes in exasperation and walks away. For a moment Dean watches him, biting his lip, trying to decide. Is this the right decision? Shouldn't he be here, keeping an eye on Sam? He knows what happened the last time he went off to do something for himself. Sam had nearly gotten killed. 

So Dean calls Cas to cancel. 

Except...

"Hello Dean." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Dean nearly wants to cry from the frustration. He hasn't said a word, but Cas picks up on it anyway. 

"What's wrong?" he asks gently, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. "Are you okay?" 

Finally he says, "I, I can't wait." 

"Dean, we don't have to–" he starts, but Dean cuts him off. 

"Cas, shut up. We're gonna have sex," he says firmly, tossing the phone onto the seat beside him and starting the car. He doesn't want to hear Cas’ protests. "Everything you thought about while touching yourself? We're doing it. Gonna make you see stars, Cas," he says determinedly, and shifts from park to drive. "See you in five," he adds, and hangs up. Those were some big promises he just made, he realizes, and lets out a hysterical, hollow laugh as he drives to Cas' house. 

It's actually kinda weird when he gets there. Cas made lunch, which is crazy because it's barely nine in the morning. They watch TV and eat mac and cheese on the couch, and Dean ignores the college stuff strewn on the coffee table. He takes the dishes to the sink and tries to wash them, but Cas sidles up behind him and kisses his neck, and starts to slide his hand down his underwear to squeeze his ass. 

"Upstairs," Dean says, turning around to kiss him. "Bed." 

"Okay," he agrees, smiling sweetly, and Dean resists the urge to kiss the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It feels like they're kids playing house, not actual almost grown ups. 

Even though it’s summer, Dean shivers. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror and yep, he can totally see everything, even that spot where it's starting to get damp in his anticipation. Oh god. Fuck. He looks ridiculous, his balls practically falling out of the flimsy thing. 

Cas' hickeys are littered along his neck and chest, and once again, Dean wishes his shoulders were broader. His breath comes out short when he realizes Cas hasn't ever seen him naked before. He's touched his dick but he's never looked at it. Swallowing thickly, Dean opens the door and heads out. Now or never. 

"Dean," Cas says, hushed and awed, and the book falls from his grasp. The nerd had started to read, Dean realizes fondly, and he's wearing glasses. What did he expect was going to happen? 

"Hey," Dean says with an awkward wave and his voice fucking cracks. His mouth is dry. Cas is looking at him in wonder, but his eyes aren't raking over Dean. He could be looking anywhere but he's looking at Dean’s face. Maybe the rest of him is actually quite hideous. 

"Come here," Cas says, and it's a request. 

He presses Dean into the mattress and slips between his legs. Dean tries to hide the hitch in his breath when Cas palms his thighs apart, but then his hands are smoothing down his thighs. He lifts Dean’s leg, and sucks a kiss into the sensitive underside of his knee. Dean jerks, breath skating out unevenly, and Cas smiles wolfishly down at him. 

"I want to eat you out," he says, and he's looking right at the apex of Dean’s legs, at where his dick is straining through the flimsy, gauzy strip of sheer cloth and lace covering it. "Can I?" he asks, and Dean swallows and nods, trying not to wonder why on earth Cas would want to do that when Cas could just fuck him. 

Cas folds his knee up against his chest, and mouths wetly at his inner thighs, circling closer before he just fastens his mouth over the thin fabric and sucks. Despite himself, Dean whimpers, flames of arousal licking higher, burning him up. Cas growls and pushes aside the panties, and then he's sucking Dean’s dick. He's kissing and licking and sucking in earnest, making these soft, desperate noises, and Dean’s head is thrown back, he’s whimpering and whining and begging. Cas licks a hot stripe down his cock where he’s heavy and hot and aching for more, and then he goes further. Palms splayed on Dean’s ass, he rocks Dean’s hips upward and his tongue slides down his perineum to–

"Cas!" he yelps, gripping his hair, and Cas looks up at him. His lips are shiny, eyes bright and hungry. He licks his way back up in one filthy stripe, lifting Dean’s hips to slide the panties off.

Then he's up, boxing Dean in with his limbs, kissing him hard. "So beautiful," he murmurs, mouthing wetly down to Dean’s chest. "So sweet. So perfect. Don't know how much I want you, Dean," he says, all predatory and low and wanting. 

Dean shivers with a sound suspiciously like a sob when Cas laves at a nipple. 

"Show me," Dean pants, hands still wound in his hair. He’s pressing up hungrily, shamelessly into Cas’ mouth. "Want you in me," he says, and Cas gets the lube out, prepping and teasing until Dean can feel the wetness of it between his legs. 

They slide the condom down Cas' cock together, and he's kissing Dean like he's drunk, sloppy and broken, more gasps against his mouth than kisses really. And fuck, but it feels so good, when Cas pushes him back and follows him down and lines himself up against Dean. 

When Cas presses in, his jaw drops and Dean holds his breath. It's a lot. But then he lets out a shuddering breath as his breached body adjusts to Cas. And Cas kisses him everywhere, sweat dripping off his temple. He apologizes because he's not gonna last long, and it's sweet. It’s the best feeling in the world. Dean’s pretty sure he cries, and he lasts maybe all of two minutes, but Cas strokes him as he slides in and back out and back in, and somehow Dean comes before him again. 

Cas gathers him into his arms afterwards, holding Dean like he knows how much Dean needs it. It's hard to imagine a life without Cas even though it's one Dean has been living for much, much longer than he’s known Cas. 

And anyway, they're kids. This is puppy love, that's why it's so much. It's too much, it's too fast, and they fell too hard. It's gonna end, just sooner than later. It’s only that Dean wishes, so desperately, that this was real.

"I promise you I'm quite real, Dean," Cas rumbles and oh. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. Cas kisses his shoulder. The arm he has wrapped around Dean from behind is pressed along his chest, palm splayed along his collar. 

"Where will you go?" Dean asks, tugging his hand up to kiss his knuckles. He doesn't want to talk about life after school but building castles in the sky with Cas is less painful than the truth. 

"I don't know," Cas says, breath warm against the nape of his neck. "Where will you go?" 

"I don't know." Dean closes his eyes, and decides to tell the truth, even though it costs him to admit it. He feels guilty for wanting something without any consideration for Sam. "Somewhere far away. Somewhere near you." 

"Is Florida far enough?" Cas asks. "Or does it have to be a different continent?"

And Dean laughs because he sounds so serious. Like he would actually rearrange his entire life to accommodate Dean. 

Dean, with his shitty past and his shitty present and his shitty future. Cas actually still thinks he’s from Joliet, Illinois or whatever. He probably thinks Dean goes home to a real family with parents who cook dinner and care about where he’s been. 

"A different world," he replies, and kisses Cas before he can ask what that means. 

Cas begs him to stay, but he spares Dean the guilt of having to say no aloud. Dean can see it in his eyes, in the way his fingertips cling to him for a moment before he lets go. Dean pretends to forget all the sexy stuff he’d bought to make Cas happy, and figures Cas can keep them as trophies, even though he doesn't seem like the kind of boy who would. Maybe a memento. Whatever. 

When he picks Sam up from school, the kid has a fucking black eye. Of course, Dean thinks bitterly, heart dropping to his stomach like a stone. He brought this on himself. It was never going to last. His big dumb daydream is over. He should never have taken the day off to be with Cas. His selfishness always comes at a cost. He knows better than to put anything other than family first. 

Sam tries to explain himself – he was just trying to defend a kid who was getting bullied – but Dean snaps. "We're not supposed to get involved, Sam!" 

"Oh yeah?" Sam demands, and comes back swinging viciously with, "And what about  _ Cas _ ?" 

There it is. Like a slap in his face. Dean opens his mouth and then shuts it because, well. Sam's right. He tries to apologize but Dean ignores him. At their motel room, he crushes and stuffs ice in an old ripped up t-shirt for Sam’s eye, and stonily ignores his phone, which is lighting up like a goddamn Christmas tree. It's Cas, and Dean’s run out of minutes, literally, figuratively, everything. 

And that's the day, Dean thinks with a bitter twist of triumph, turning off the lights and trying to sleep, Dean Winchester lost his virginity and got his heart broken.

  
  


###  Week 9

The bell rings and Dean’s actually looking forward to algebra. It's the one class he shares with Cas and the one reason he bothers to come to school anymore. Today he’s hoping to convince Cas to skip it so they can go have sex again. Maybe they'll go to that hill overlooking all the garbage. It's kinda romantic, he thinks with an amused snort. Maybe they’ll go to Cas’ place. Can’t beat the comfort of a clean bed. 

He meets Cas’ eyes across the hall and smiles. Cas relaxes and does that not-quite-smile that reaches his eyes and warms Dean’s heart because he knows that look. That look means Cas is pleased to see him. 

Dean starts to walk towards him, but a hand around his elbow stops him. It's Sam. 

"Dad's here," he says, and he looks about as devastated as Dean feels. He’s not ready for this. Not again. He’s not ready. "Dean, I'm sorry–" 

"Go to the car," Dean says roughly, giving Sam his books and shoving him away. Sam looks like he's going to protest but Dean repeats himself sternly and Sam finally does as he’s told and fucks off. 

"Dean." It's Cas, and he's next to him, concerned, worried, so many things Dean can't have. 

The past two months have felt like two whole years, and Dean thinks this is the hardest, no, the worst thing dad's ever made him do. He looks at Cas and he knows that if he asked Cas to run away with him, he would. No questions asked. And maybe that's what makes it worse. They could be together. 

"Dean, what's wrong?" he asks, and his brow's all furrowed now, and he's looking at Dean like he wants to make everything right in the world. But he can't. He’s just a kid. He can’t save Dean. 

When Dean finds his voice it's shaky. "Nothing." 

He’s forgotten he’s still wearing his cast, and the big scab from his cut is just starting to fall out, but Cas lifts his hand gently and kisses his fingers like he knows. 

Dean lets out a shaky breath and kisses him hard. He cups Cas’ face with his good hand, memorizing everything he can about the moment, and pulls back reluctantly, breathing hard. He can't remember it, he’s already forgetting it because it's just a dream. It's slipping away from him like water through cupped hands. Cas' eyes are still closed, lost in the moment. 

"Hey," Dean says, and Cas blinks, opening his eyes, and Dean enjoys the last sweet moment of being the focus of his attention. "Save me a seat, okay?" 

"Okay," Cas agrees, voice like a dream, so innocent and free, and Dean turns because he can't breathe, he’s going to cry, and he can't let Cas see it. 

He makes it to the parking lot before he tosses his phone in a trash can and falls to the ground behind it, hiding as he sobs, ugly and broken for a few minutes. It hurts so much. It hurts too much. His heart feels like broken glass in his chest, piercing his lungs. He has to stifle his cries behind his hand and pull himself together because the dream's over. It was a good one, too. A really good one. He’s lucky he got to have it at all. 

Dean wipes his tears with the back of his hand and when he hears the Impala’s impatient honk, he sniffs, straightening his shirt. He squares his shoulders and stands tall, walking back with a smile, because that's his family. That's his real life. 

Time to go. 


End file.
